Waterlogged Heart
by awordycontradiction
Summary: He looked scared - the nameless and faceless from her dreams didn't look glib and awkward, but, like Lydia held the key to his existence.
1. Chapter 1

His laugh, like everything else about him, was rooted in sarcasm. The smile he flashed as he contradicted her made Lydia Martin's blood boil and her heart ripple inside her chest. He licked two fingers, a playful glare in his eyes, flipping another heavy page of the moldy leather-bound text he read from. His movements, per usual, never as suave as he hoped, and he sliced his thumb against a jagged edge, screaming for a tetanus shot.

She woke up laughing. The mid-Autumn sunlight slipped in through a crack in her lilac curtain, hitting Lydia dead in the face. She groaned, lips still stretched and flopped over to ward off the light. The heady stench of old books piled on the edge of her bed wiped her smile away, and as she rubbed her drowsy eyes, Lydia caught flashes of tawny-gold behind her eyelids, the same color as _his_ iris' when he grew impatient or excited. Her arms stretched out in the sea of damson and mauve, hunting for his warmth, but instead hit Prada in the snout.

Lydia wrenched herself from the pillow, quick eyes darting around the room; no plaid shirt or converse sneakers, no brown-haired boy lying next to her on top of the covers - and - _why_ would there be?

A far off dream, Lydia decided, slumping back against her pillow, grabbing the other and hugging it to her chest. That was the third night of dreaming about someone that didn't exist. She pulled the pillow to her face, ready to scream but caught a hint of soap - something woodsy and musk. Simpering, Lydia ran her fingertips over the soft casing, concentrating hard on a memory she couldn't place, with a bodiless being she knew too well.

The doorknob twitched and a moment later Natalie poked her head inside, "Good -" she beamed, "You're awake."

"Morning," she drolled, dropping the pillow to scratch Prada on the head.

Natalie stepped inside. "There's someone here to see you."

A name formed on Lydia's tongue that she couldn't place, causing her face to scrunched up and her nose to do that thing he found adorable. She sucked in a breath - flinching, slightly, because she had no idea where this was coming from.

"Everything okay, Sweetheart?" her mother wondered, gripping the door frame.

Lydia shook her head. "I had a weird dream." she glared at her hands, tears stung her eyes and she felt pathetic for it.

"Hmm," Natalie hummed, non-committed. "Yeah, you were talking in your sleep last night. You had quite a bit to say to some _boy_."

Lydia jerked away from Prada, "Did you hear a name?"

Natalie pondered, leaning against the door. "No, Sweetheart, sorry. I was worried it was another one of those fits - but you were smiling." her mother smiled too, remembering it.

"Who's here?" she asked, changing the subject, sourly.

"Malia." Natalie cooed, "She's coming along, isn't she?"

Lydia nodded.

Because Malia didn't have a mother figure - not one worth mentioning - Natalie Martin took it upon herself to help Malia find semblance in a world she didn't understand. Lydia liked having Malia around, especially after Kira left and Scott became miserable. It wasn't like Allison - Lydia reminded herself, repeatedly each time she saw Scott's face. They didn't lose Allison all over again, because Kira was alive, and doing everything she could to make sure she stayed that way.

"Yeah, Mom. She's doing great." she tossed off the covers and they landed in a heap on Prada. He gave a small growl as he climbed from the rubble.

"You can tell her to come up. I'm gonna get

dressed."

Walking fully into the room, Natalie shut the door. "There's a boy with her."

Lydia's body tightened and her heart began to beat differently, fervently, in anticipation for something she couldn't understand.

"So? You let boys come in my room all the time."

"Oh, do I?" Natalie's voice hitched, sharpening - Lydia turned from her dresser, not finding her words insulting.

" _What_ boys am I letting into my teenage daughter's bedroom?"

With a laugh, Lydia shook her head, pulling out a burgundy sweater that matched one of those plaid shirts he always wore. She couldn't pronounce the name, couldn't even think of it clearly and she couldn't see a whole face - but she knew he'd been there. Going over those books on her bed, laying his head on her pillow, swearing until he was blue in the face that he wouldn't fall asleep. And then, when he ultimately did, Lydia would memorize every beauty mark collecting on his cheeks, likening them to constellations, creating patterns to dream of later on.

Swallowing down another wave of sadness, Lydia shook her head. "I meant Scott. Sorry, I don't know what I'm saying."

"Scott's different," Natalie tossed her hair.

Though a lightness came into her eyes, Natalie's brows puckered and her lips tightened. Lydia flashed her mother a teasing smile and held up the sweater, signaling she wanted to change.

"I'll tell them you'll be right down." she walked out, not without another cautious look.

Lydia stood frozen, gripping her sweater like a life vest. An uneasy feeling dripped from the ceiling, slinked across the floor and tugged at her heels before slipping inside her body to weight in her waterlogged heart.

Instead of changing, Lydia threw herself back on the bed, her thumb a blur as she tore through her contacts, the name on her tongue mangled her ability to think clearly - not even of _him_. Like she already guessed, no name in her phone sparked a memory or a link to this phantom presence that clutched her soul and caused her whole body to ache. In a blink of frustration, she kicked her sheets, waiting to hear the satisfying clammer of heavy books hit the floor. It never came.

Propped on her elbow, Lydia glanced back, they weren't on the edge of her bed any longer, and as she crawled down the mattress, something more than fear swirled around her; there weren't any books on the floor, either. She wondered, briefly, if she was hallucinating. She couldn't pin down a point in her life when she had - though in her gut she knew this happened before; seeing things that weren't there.

Swallowing, Lydia took a calming breath, but saw flashes of the high school at night and a pair of tawny eyes gawking at her in wonder. Malia's laugh broke through the crippling fog in her head. Lydia opened her eyes, surfacing for air. He looked scared - the nameless and faceless from her dreams didn't look as glib and awkward in that moment, but, like Lydia held the key to his existence.

With no desire to be alone any longer, Lydia changed quickly and met Malia, and to her disappointment, Mason, at the foot of the stairs. He tapped his foot against the tile floor and smiled politely at Mrs. Martin, a thick book like the ones she swore were on her bed tucked to his side.

Natalie left the three alone, wrapping a scarf around her long neck and pulled her purse from the landing.

"I'll be home in an hour or so. Love you." she kissed Lydia's cheek and walked out, waving at the teenagers.

"What's wrong?" Malia demanded, arms crossed, dark eyes intense.

Lydia watched her mother drive off, and ignoring Malia's question, walked into the dining room.

"Something's wrong?" Mason asked, jogging to catch up.

"No -"

"Yes!"

Lydia huffed and pulled out a chair, dropping into it. "I was asleep when you came. You two ruined a _good_ dream."

"Sorry," Mason blushed, sitting next to her.

It was hard for Lydia to look at him, mostly because pulses of foolishness mixed with disappointment, created a torrent inside that made Lydia sick to her stomach. She wished he was someone that didn't exist and she didn't know how to stop.

Instead, she flipped her hair and nodded. "It's fine."

"So, did Deaton give you this book?" she wondered, forcing some curiosity into her voice.

Malia didn't take her eyes off Lydia. She nodded, taking unsubtle, deep breaths every few seconds.

"And he think this will explain what's happening? _If_ it's happening."

Lydia's skepticism made Mason antsy. He squirmed in his seat, biting his thumbnail. "It's really happening." he said, "Two people vanished and only their son remembers."

" _Or_ they never existed in the first place."

"You're being kinda harsh." Malia scoffed. "This boy lost his parents and he's scared. The least we can do is help him find them."

Lydia bowed her head. Of course she wanted to help the little boy find his parents. Her insolence was something she couldn't explain easily - and that mingled with constant images of a complete stranger that didn't exist left her irritable and closed off to any impossibilities.

"Scott believes him." Malia added, like that was the final nail in the coffin. If Scott believed, they all believed.

"Just - I don't know, have a look?" Mason urged, seeing a softness in Lydia's shoulders that made him bold.

"It won't take a _genius_ too long." he grinned. "Just a little French."

Lydia's throat went dry.

Mason didn't notice, he pulled the book back to him, signaling to the small post-it notes poking out that she didn't see before. "Blue means French and Latin, yellow means interesting and red is for

I have no idea."

Lydia huffed. "I see a lot of red." she glared.

"You're the genius!" he threw his hands in the air.

A large whiteboard flickered in the back of her mind, the faceless boy, shaking with frustration, mapped out their progress in front of her. Lydia shook her head, and averted her gaze from Malia. She didn't want to give away too much.

"I have homework to do." Lydia said, picking at the edge of the fraying book. "But I'll read it and give you some notes."

"Could you mark those with green?" Mason wondered, pulling out a fresh pack of pale green post-it notes.

Lydia said goodbye.

After they left, her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the heavy book to thumb through its contents. Mason was right, it wouldn't take that long; the smell of Lavender rose from the pages each time she shifted, encouraging her to continue on. What surprised her most was that the book wasn't as old as she first believed, the print legible and neat. Like ripping off a band-aid, Lydia skipped to the passages marked with blue. Memories overwhelmed her; _real memories_. Memories of Allison, who always insisted on helping Lydia with her French homework, even though she knew the language fluently. Lydia always thought it was a way of spending time together; in the crazy world they lived in, something as mundane and silly as French homework kept them in perspective.

She knew Mason tried to help, and they really did need Lydia's brain for this; so instead of crying, she steeled herself, letting Allison's memory wrap around her like a safety blanket and jumped into uncharted waters, reading complicated theories.

The more she read, the less Lydia believed the child - erasing people from existence was a silly concept. She rolled her eyes and flipped page after page, refusing to accept it, or - she tried to; something inside wouldn't let go, urging her to keep reading, begging her to find a solution.

"I'm back!" Natalie yelled from the front door, not to alarm Lydia. "And I found some help in the driveway."

Lydia shoved the book in one of the lower cabinets of her mother's China closet and followed the noise out onto the street.

" _Scott_." she sighed, not surprised to see him.

He grinned at her, Mrs. Martin loading him up with grocery bags. She caressed his cheek and sent him on his way. Lydia's eyes widened and she impressively held in a gag. Natalie's fetish with Scott McCall was nauseating and alarming - more so because Scott actually enjoyed her mother's doting.

"You're gross." she hissed in his ear as he sauntered up the walkway.

He laughed and nudged her side on his way into the house. Lydia stomped down the steps and glowered as Natalie handed off a few more bags. "He's the sweetest."

" _Mom_. He's seventeen."

Natalie swat her arm. "Oh stop it. You know I'm kidding."

Lydia had some choice words that she swallowed down and marched into the house biting her tongue.

After the three put the groceries away and Scott promised he'd stay for dinner, the two settled into the living room - Scott showed up with the guise of studying for their AP Biology test.

"I spoke to Malia," Scott said, highlighting everything on one page - including the pictures.

Lydia paused, her pen in the air, "Did you?" she asked, mock-shock in her voice.

If he noticed, Scott ignored it and continued. "She said you were acting different. _Irritable_ was the word she used."

"I'm sure." Lydia laughed. "And how did she say I smell?" Scott blanched.

"Either she was sniffing for my emotions or she has a nasty cold."

Scott dropped his highlighter. "She's worried. And so am I."

Lydia pressed her mouth together. "I'm fine."

"It's me, Lyds."

Scott said the same thing after Allison died. That was when their relationship changed from mutual acceptance to full blown friendship. They had never been close, not through elementary school or junior high - but after Allison linked them together, it was hard to imagine her life without Scott McCall. He was her best friend. And even if he was the closest person she had, something was missing, and she couldn't explain it.

She couldn't remember when that started, nor could she remember not feeling that way. It was an odd limbo that she just noticed - and it scared the hell out of her, because she wasn't sure when it would stop.

"Please talk to me. You're emotions are everywhere."

Lydia put down her notebook and moved a seat closer. "Okay. I didn't want to tell Malia and Mason, but - I've been dreaming of someone. Someone that I never met before."

"Okay.."

"It's not just that. It's more than just a _guy_. It's like, Scott, it's like I know him. That he's supposed to be here."

Scott smiled softly, "Maybe that means you're ready for a serious relationship."

"You don't get it." Lydia exhaled.

He grabbed her hand. "Do you think it's a banshee thing?"

Lydia blinked. She hadn't thought of that. "So - so uh - you think he might be?" her eyes welled up with tears and her tongue froze, absolutely dreading the idea of this figment of her imagination dead.

"You don't even know him, he might not be real."

She flinched. "You think I'm making this up? After everything we've been through?"

"What? _No_ \- Lydia, that's not what I said."

Dropping his hand, Lydia moved back to her original seat, notebook in her lap again. Scott watched her for a few minutes, tasting her emotions like strong, bitter vodka.

"Lydia -" he finally said.

"What Scott?"

He put his textbook down. "I don't think he's dead."

His arms supported her, thicker than they looked and more sturdy than a jeep. He rocked her back and forth as she cried over Allison's grave, flowers littering the ground. She wrapped both arms around him, the woodsy scent radiating off him and not the forest at their backs. He cupped her cheek and wiped hot tears, the pads of his thumb surprisingly soft.

Lydia looked into his golden eyes and they left the cemetery, once again sprawled out on her bed - older and lighter than before, so close together, Lydia's heart skipped a beat. He leaned in, like before, but instead of his fingers grazing her cheek, it was his nose, as the tip of his lips traced her freckles.

"Stop -" she giggled, but dug her fingers into his shoulder blades, pulling him closer.

His breath grew heavy as he pressed her farther down on the mattress, his knee bent between her, not to apply too much pressure. She wanted it - wanted him; an intense sensation she never experienced before with anyone else.

"Lydia -" he whispered into her neck, kissing her pulse point.

Her mouth opened, ready to say his name, when he covered it with his own, a white-hot kiss that solidified this thing they danced around for a year.

"Lydia!" he said again, but it wasn't him. _He_ was kissing her. "Lydia!"

Scott laughed, shaking her shoulder. "I know I'm hopeless but it's mean to fall asleep on me."

Lydia jumped up - bleary eyed, her chest rising and falling too fast. She rubbed her arm, a red indent of her biology textbook molded into her skin. The light from Scott's laptop paled him, and as he sat on the other end of the couch, his amusement turned to something else she didn't understand.

"Were you -" his warm, dark eyes widened, his cheeks turning pink despite the washed out light.

"No." she shook her head.

"Oh my God - Lydia!" Scott gasped, scandalized. "You were _having_ \- I'm right here!"

She clutched her chest, her heart ready to beat it's way out. "No I wasn't." she swore.

"I - I was being chased by a werewolf with a bad haircut." she glared, but her pink cheeks belied her anger.

Scott chuckled. "If you say so."

Lydia's head fell into her hands, her knees coming up to support her arms. Hot all over, Lydia never felt that way before. She hoped - not for the first of _tenth_ time - that Scott was right, and this figment of her imagination wasn't dead. Maybe even real and searching for her.

"Hey, Lydia?" he whispered, after giving her a moment to collect her thoughts.

She dropped her hands, looking at him.

"Who's Stiles?"


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia Martin had been in many life-threatening situations, she'd battled and fought and outwitted many foes over her high school career. She knew for a forty-eight hour period that her best friend would die and did everything she could to stop it. The memory laced her nightmares on a constant loop for months after, and she could still feel the jagged, cold tip of the blade lodged in her heart, like Allison's. Lydia thought she'd seen it all, and nothing more could surprise her, until that moment.

"What did you say?"

Scott, with his ever-soft brown eyes and lopsided smile, shrugged his shoulders and shut his laptop. "You mumbled it a few times - _Stiles_? It's a name, right? I feel like I heard it before."

For a second, Lydia believed time stopped completely. Within her crippling, altered world that one word brought a sliver of dazzling, blind hope. Scott's eyes remained kind and patient, watching Lydia work through her shock. He couldn't register an exact emotion on her, probably because Lydia never felt more numb. Her body, not able to hold it together anymore, sagged against the couch's backing, her bones liquefied and hollowing before Scott's eyes. An inkling, a familiar buzz inside awakened suddenly, carving its way through her veins, threatening to burst.

"Stiles -" she gasped, her hands clutched Scott, who stumbled over to her aide. "Scott! It's _Stiles_!"

He cupped her cheek in an attempt to soothe her panic, but it fell on deaf ears. Lydia's eyes couldn't stay focused on his kind, worried face or the cluttered coffee table. She clutched Scott tighter and tried to ground herself; images flying around her head. Stiles' smile, his face, his warm kind eyes - his voice, telling her he loved her.

 _Stiles_ told Lydia he _loved_ her.

"It's them!" she gasped, Scott flinching away from her. "It's them - the Ghost Riders! They took that boy's parents. They took Stiles!"

She ran both her shaking hands through her tangled hair. Her limbs lighter, no longer carrying the weight of her forgotten friend. "They're taking everyone."

"Lydia, slow down, please." Scott begged, conflicted on how to go about this.

Some of her momentum ceased, her optimism deflating with the skepticism in his eyes. "You don't remember."

It wasn't a question and he didn't give her an answer. Scott looked away, staring at the vast bookshelf across the room. How could Lydia remember and Scott not?

Scott; Stiles' best friend - his brother.

"Hey," she whispered, grabbing Scott's hand, "I'm sorry, it's all coming back so fast. I - I;" she looked down. "You don't remember him?"

Scott squeezed down on her fingers, "It sounds familiar."

"Stiles?" she whispered.

A small, fleeting smile followed, from both of them.

"Stiles-" she said it again, because she could.

"It's Stiles." she couldn't hold in her giggles. Happiness hiccuped out of her, the walls a brighter yellow, Scott's eyes a warmer brown.

She swore to him she'd remember and she did. Lydia sobered almost as quick.

"What is it?" Scott asked. Lydia hadn't realized, but he'd been studying her face, and his smile vanished, like hers.

"He's probably terrified, thinking no one remembers him." she swallowed.

Scott shifted. "Maybe it's dumb to ask, but he's the one you've been thinking about?"

"Yeah," she grinned.

Odd pieces of memories pasted back together in her mind, Stiles giving himself a paper cut, a whispered confession in his old jeep, a frantic, warm kiss to her cheek in the parking lot. Prom plans, college plans; midnight drives to Beacon Hill hot spots - everything was there, back in her heart. Lydia sighed, grateful for her memories, if only it was her burden to shoulder for now.

"We have to find him."

Scott nodded, hopelessly - still not seeing what she could. But, Lydia Martin was painfully used to being a mile ahead of everyone else. "Mason's book!" she beamed, jumping from the couch to retrieve it.

Lydia heard Scott's footsteps as he followed her, dazed but determined. She heaved it from the shelf and dropped it on the dining room table. "Okay, so, Mason came over earlier with this book. I assume it's from Deaton." Scott shrugged.

She waved it off, "Anyway, I was reading the Latin first, and they talked about men riding on lightening, stealing souls."

"Of course." Scott mumbled.

Thumbing through the pages, Lydia came across a chapter titled _Evanesce_ \- she thrust her finger at it. "If we're believing anything is possible, this isn't even that outlandish."

"Lydia," Scott laughed, without any trace of humor, "How the hell can we fight this if it's true?"

He glanced over the chapter. All the English words looked troublesome. "We can't see them to stop them and if we do end up seeing them, they take us and erase everyone's memories?"

Lydia shrugged. "It's probably more complicated than that."

Scott crossed his arms. "We don't have a choice, Scott. Stiles is out there and I'm going to find him one way or another. Might as well start believing me now. I'm not shutting up."

He smiled. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

Freezing, Lydia opened her mouth to refute it, like she had for so many years, but she stopped herself, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. In his last moments with her, Stiles was brutally honest, Lydia could return the favor.

"He does. And he means a lot to you, too."


End file.
